Pay Day
by WRTRD
Summary: When a TV executive is murdered, Beckett is called to the scene—and immediately barred from the case. Set after 8x18, the appropriately titled "Backstabber." Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

The call comes in so early on Monday morning that Beckett is the only one there, and she's at her desk only because Castle's away and she couldn't sleep. At 4:00 she'd the hell with it and gone to work, determined to get through a backlog of terminally boring paperwork.

She startles when her phone rings. Wrong tone for Castle, so who is it? Dispatch, already? A body. She takes down the address, and with so little traffic is there in less than fifteen minutes. She steps up to the desk in the lobby of the enormous high-rise office building, and identifies herself to the security guard, who directs her to the forty-seventh floor.

She sinks slightly in the plush carpeting of the long hallway and notices a cop standing outside an open doorway about twenty feet ahead.

"Morning," Beckett says, holding up her badge. She's about to cross the threshold when a muscular, blue-uniformed arm stops her.

"You can't go in there, ma'am."

"Excuse me?"

"You can't go in."

"Right, heard you." She shows him her badge again. "I'm the responding officer. Captain Beckett. First on scene. This is my jurisdiction."

"Have my orders, ma'am." He's firm, but nervous.

"I'm the captain, so please step aside and let me do my job." She's about to insist, but turns her head at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Kate?" It's Lanie, and she's surprised by the medical officer's use of her first name. "He won't let me in there, either. I decided to go cool off in the ladies room until you got here. Where are the boys?"

"Hang on a sec." Beckett turns back to glare at the cop, inclining her head slightly to double check the nametag on his chest. In her power heels she's got six inches on the flatfoot. "Officer Butts, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"My detectives are on their way. Am I to assume that you'll deny them entry also?"

"No, ma'am."

"No? So, the M.E. and I are not permitted to check the body, but they are? By whose authority?"

"Just taking orders, Captain. From One PP. They told me not to admit you two."

"Butts? Here's another order. Don't move. Doctor Parrish and I will be right down the hall."

She takes her friend by the elbow and guides them towards the elevator bank, out of Butts's earshot. "Castle's at a conference in L.A., Ryan's on paternity leave this week, but Espo's on his way. What the hell is going on?"

"I have no idea. I got here about three minutes ahead of you."

"Okay, so you and I are being banned by One PP? I know the sun isn't even up yet, but I'm calling Gates."

Her former commander answers on the first ring. "Beckett? Kate?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to call at this hour, but I'm at a murder scene and—"

"And you're not allowed in, right? Is Doctor Parish with you?"

Wow, she already knows? Is she behind this? "Yes, sir. Apparently the ban includes only the two of us."

"Three of us."

"Sir?"

"Three of us are banned. You, Doctor Parish, and I."

"What?"

"Kate, I don't want to do this on the phone. I'm coming to join you, so stay there regardless, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

Beckett fills Lanie in. "Let's go back. At least Butts can't prevent us from looking through the door."

The crime scene is a lavish suite. There's an outer office, presumably for the man's assistant, but the body is in visible through the open door to the enormous inner office. Beckett checks the notes on her phone. "Did you get any info on the vic? What was his position here?" She peeks around the officer's slumping shoulder. "Other than prone, that is."

"Head of programming at the network here. His name is Les Cutter. The cleaning lady found him just after three. That's all I know."

"Well, he's been stabbed, obviously. But why isn't there any blood? There should be tons of it."

"That's exactly what I thought. I'd have to get him back to the lab, but I'm pretty sure he had no heart." Lanie points a well-manicured fingertip at the late Mister Cutter. "You see that the deep depression in his thorax?"

"Yeah."

"That's where the heart would generally be."

"So the guy has no heart? Amazing. Still, head of programming for a TV network, so—. Hey, can you see the shelves behind the vic's desk?"

Lanie cranes her neck. "Yes."

"There's that line of awards, trophies, but a space where one seems to be missing. I know we're not close enough to tell, but the murder weapon? I assume it's the murder weapon, anyway, since it's buried in his chest. I think that's a People's Choice Award."

"You know what? I think you're right."

Beckett swivels at the sound of the soft ping of the elevator arriving.

"Cap'n?"

She puts her hand out. "Wait, Espo." She and Lanie go to meet him. "You won't believe this."

"What's going on? Where is everyone?"

"Shh. No one here but us, and Gates is on her way. For reasons unknown, at least to us, she, Lanie and I are forbidden to be here, but you're not."

"Huh? Says who?"

"Someone higher up the food chain than Gates, apparently. I have no idea. Why don't you go ahead, tell Butts to butt out if he gives you any trouble."

Espo is pulling on his blue gloves. "Butts?"

"Cop on the door."

The detective proceeds, and the two women continue to wait by the elevators, talking softly. Five minutes later Victoria Gates emerges, bristling but greeting them warmly. "Let's step down here," she suggests, gesturing to the opposite end of the hallway.

"Sir, can you tell us anything?"

"I can. On Friday, our victim, Les Cutter, fired two women in the cast of a beloved, long-running cop show. Word got out last night and it's taken over the internet."

"You don't mean _Fortress,_ do you?"

"The very one."

"Based on the Twelfth, sort of. Castle always hated that someone got there ahead of him."

"So who got the axe?" Lanie asks.

"The two actresses who play parts based on you."

"Really? Wait, wait, wait. I think I get it. Those women bear more than a passing resemblance to Lanie and me. He fired them? I can't believe it."

"Mmhmm," Gates says, nodding her head and looking expectantly at Beckett.

"And last year this guy fired the woman who played a character who was based on you."

"You're batting a thousand, Captain."

"I'd never admit this publicly, but I love that show."

"Me, too," Lanie says.

Gates bursts into a smile, and lowers her voice to a whisper. "Same here! Talk about my guilty pleasure. I like it even more than _The Wives of Wall Street_ , and I'm sure you remember my feelings about that."

Beckett chuckles. "I do, sir."

"Captain?" It's Esposito, heading straight for them. "Oh, sorry, and Deputy Chief!"

"Morning, Detective," Gates says, before passing along to him what she has already told the others.

"He fired Stana Katic and Tamala Jones?" Espo is slack-jawed. Are you kidding me?"

"That's right. And the order for the three of us to stand down came directly from the Commissioner."

"They think you're compromised, sir?"

"Something like that."

Beckett rolls her eyes. "I couldn't get much standing out here, Espo, but am I right that the victim was killed by a People's Choice Award?"

"Bingo."

"It's glass, so prints will be easy."

"Nope, wiped clean. But here's the thing. The guy's computer was on and his email account was open."

"And?"

"Looks like there are millions, and I mean millions, of messages from seriously piss—'scuse me—ticked off fans. All looking for blood."

"Did you notice that there isn't any, Javi?" Lanie asks.

"Blood? There's no blood?" Gates is surprised. "The man was stabbed, wasn't he? The body must have been moved."

"I don't think so," the ME replies. "When Perlmutter gets here he can tell us."

"Believe it or not, sir," Beckett says, "the guy appears to have had no heart, literally."

The elevator pings again, and Perlmutter and CSU techs stream out. After a brief conversation with them, the three women decide to leave together. They're not permitted here, so they might as well depart. "You know," Beckett says morosely on the ride down, "I feel as though I can't watch _Fortress_ anymore. I could kill that guy Cutter."

"Except someone already did," Gates says with a wide smile.

When they're walking through the lobby, Beckett puts her arms around the shoulders of the other two women. "No one's home at my place, but our fridge is stocked with everything. How about you come over and we all have breakfast together?"

And they do. By the time they've finished their scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, and gone through two pots of coffee, they're all laughing and talking on a first-name basis.

"Hey," Beckett says, looking over her shoulder at the wine cabinet. "I've got some Dom Perignon on ice. Shall we?"

Her two friends applaud.

She takes a bowl of perfect, juicy strawberries from the fridge, puts it on a tray with the chilled bottle of bubbly and three Champagne flutes, and carries it to the coffee table in the living room. When the three women have settled on the sofa, Beckett raises her glass. "To Stana!"

"To Penny!" Gates says.

"And Tamala!" Lanie adds.

"Long may they reign," Beckett says, after her first sip. "To bigger and better things for all of them." She puts her glass down. "You know, I've wanted to do this for the longest time, just the three of us, letting our hair down. I can cross it off now. It was the top thing left on my Beckett List."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

 **A/N** Surprise! I'm still so furious about what happened last week that Beckett and I have more to say on the subject.

Lanie and Victoria—she's Victoria for sure now, at least for the duration of this case—have left and Kate is tidying up the kitchen. She has just turned on the dishwasher when she hears her personal cell phone ring. That's a surprise: it's Tito Puente's "Oye Como Va," which means that it's Esposito calling from his personal phone, too, not the department-issued one.

She picks it up from the counter with a certain amount of anxiety. "Hey, Espo, something wrong?"

"Nah, nothin', but since you're considered radioactive on this one, I thought I'd better call you on the down low."

"Yeah, that's me. Captain Plutonium. So, what's up?"

"We searched the vic's office."

"Don't you think his name is kind of funny?"

"What, Cutter? You mean 'cause he was stabbed?"

"No, that would have been more appropriate if his throat had been slashed. I mean his whole name, Les Cutter. You know, because it sounds like 'let's cut her,' which is what he did. He cut Stana Katic and Tamala Jones from the show."

"I wouldn't know anything about—"

"Oh, please don't deny that you watch _Fortress_."

"What? I never watch that cop crap."

"Ah, so it's entirely coincidental that when Joe Huertas cut his hair, you came in the next day with the same."

"Jon."

"What?"

"Jon Huertas. Okay, okay, so I watch occasionally, maybe. Now, Ryan, that's another story. He freaking DVRs it."

"No surprise there." They both laugh. "Sorry, I interrupted. You searched the vic's office. Find something important?"

"A note."

"A note? Definitely not a suicide note, so what, then? A threat? There wasn't really time for anyone to have sent him one, was there?"

"No, perp left it on the shelf where the murder weapon had been. The award."

"Any prints?"

"Nope."

"What did it say?"

"It's not so much what it said, Cap, but how."

She's a little confused. "What, the language?"

"The language is very, uh, clear, it's the typing. Or the type. You're a big typeface, font, whatever it is, geek, right? You and Castle?"

"Yeah, so? Is the note printed in some kind of unusual one?"

"For one thing, you can't hardly read it. I'm no expert, but I've never seen anything like it and I wanted to ask if you could take a look, see if you can i.d. it or something. Might lead us somewhere."

"Sure, I'll try. Send me a picture."

"On its way."

He wasn't kidding. It's thick and blocky, almost brutal. It looks both very modern and like something from the 1920s or '30s, and it's very hard to read. "Hey, Espo, can you send me one of the whole note? I'll call you back."

"Done."

She has to look hard and closely at the photo, and read the note over three times before she can decipher it:

"You killed the best show on television, you mother******, and we find out right before the episode called 'Backstabber'? That's what you are to Stana and Tamala and all of us fans, a backstabbing, fucking serial killer. So here's a little bit of poetic justice for you."

Tapping the phone against her chin, she considers what "poetic justice" might mean. Maybe there's a Backstabber typeface? She moves to Castle's office and does a little digging. Well whaddaya know, there is. But it turns out to look nothing like the one used for the note; just the opposite, in fact. Backstabber is sleek and elegant: the capital J even reminds her of a dagger, a slim-bladed janbiya. She texts her translation to Esposito, but tells him that she's still trying to identify the lettering.

It takes a while, but she finally finds it and calls him. "I got it. You ready for this? It's called Betrayed."

He chuckles. "Oh, that's good. I know I shouldn't be laughing."

"Neither should I, but I'm not on the case so I'm allowed. Plus Cutter didn't fire you."

"Didn't fire you, either, Beckett."

"Poetically he did. Since she's plays a character who's based on me."

"Maybe I should watch my back."

"Maybe you should. Except the backstabber is dead, so you're probably safe."

"Okay. Thanks."

It infuriates her that she's not allowed near the case. It's a high-profile murder for every kind of reason and her team should be all over it. But Espo's basically on his own, with detectives assigned who aren't in his league don't work the way he does at all. It's idiotic: she's not in danger and she's not a suspect. Is she? Professionally she's always maintained a cool distance from the show, but personally? She loves it; it's her favorite. If she's put under oath, she'll say so. Okay, she's mad as hell at the network and the recently deceased Les Cutter. Huh, here's something she won't admit to under oath: she's almost glad that she doesn't have to seek justice for him because he doesn't deserve it. There, she said it. She wouldn't really shake the hand of the person who killed him, but she'd do it in her mind.

And another thing: she really likes Stana Katic. Tamala Jones, too, but she'd met her only once for about a minute. Before the series began, Stana followed her for two weeks, asked a lot of smart questions, kept her head down. Beckett has never told anyone this, but she and the actress have stayed in touch, even become friends. Castle knows, but she told him only after they got together and swore him to secrecy. Stana texts or calls her if she thinks something in a script is over the top or just plain dumb. Or insulting. Every year since season one she has come to New York during the summer hiatus and they've spent a couple of days together. Stana picks her brain, but they also just hang out. "Badass Buddies," Stana calls them. They usually eat in a little Croatian restaurant in Queens where no one bothers them. They've swapped stories about everything from gender inequality in their respective worlds to broken (and mended) hearts. They've gone for long runs along the river. And every year Stana makes a generous and anonymous donation to the Johanna Beckett scholarship fund. Beckett knows this only because she's on the board and sees the books every quarter.

So yeah, she's pissed. This jerk Cutter fired her friend and sabotaged her favorite TV show at the same time. Maybe if she can help on this case, off the books, she can at least get the bad taste out of her mouth. There's nothing wrong or illegal about her causally speaking to Esposito, friend-to-friend. What's the harm in that? Oh, God, that's the kind of argument Castle would make. What the hell, she'll do it. She picks up her phone again.

"Javi?"

"Yeah?"

"You got a T.O.D.?"

"Perlmutter says he died between midnight and two."

"The killer had plenty of time to scram, then. What about security cams?"

"There are quite a few, but not as many as you'd expect from a TV network. The news people are in and out of here twenty-four seven, so it's not your typical midtown office building. But there are a lotta gaps. Security Swiss cheese, basically."

"Any of those gaps on the forty-seventh floor?"

"Yup. There's only one camera outside the elevator. Two more at the far ends of the corridors. That's all, but—"

"They were disabled."

"You got it."

"How about the interior staircases? They probably have alarms, maybe re-entry every other floor?"

"Every four floors, but otherwise, yeah. Alarm at Cutter's end was disabled along with the camera."

"So the killer probably used the stairs and went either up or down several flights."

"Got someone scrubbing footage for all the floors, but it's going to take a while."

She pauses. "Is there a garage? Below?"

"Not sure. Hold on. Kinda short-handed here plus these TV types keep getting in the way. Think they can run the show, if you get my drift."

"Yeah, I do. I can wait." She hears some conversation in the background, and some general muttering, and then he returns.

"Nice on the garage. Thanks. Good thing is there's only one exit, so we'll look at everyone who drove out since midnight."

"Talk to you later."

She's been ordered to stay away from the office today and possibly tomorrow, and she's getting fidgety. It's pouring, so going for a run isn't much of a prospect. "Can't believe I'm under house arrest," she says to no one. She figures it's going to be a few hours before she hears anything from Espo and she's feeling bitter. Bitter about a show she loves and will never watch again, dumb as that might sound. She realizes how much it's bound up in her life. She and Castle watch it together every Monday and they dissect the episode all week. He still has the occasional rant about how he'd have done a better job of making the show, but then she reminds him of _Nikki Heat_ and his ego is miraculously restored. Fortunately the writer who created the show departed after the pilot, so they never have to deal with him. "He's gone on to other, worse things," Castle likes to say.

It's grief, she realizes. She's grieving for a TV show. Is that pathetic? No, it's not. And just for that she's going to watch an old episode. She has all the DVDs. She'll put on her pajamas and watch from bed. Who cares if it's lunchtime? She's going to indulge herself. She makes a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich, fills her KEEP CALM AND WATCH FORTRESS mug with industrial strength coffee, carries them to the bedroom, and puts them on her nightstand. Which episode fits her mood? The end of season four, that'll be perfect. But halfway through she stops. Her sandwich is half eaten, the coffee has gone cold, and she can't bear to watch any more. _Fortress_ isn't _Fortress_ anymore, it's _Dungeon_. Shit.

Espo's ring tone snaps her out of it. "Got something?"

"Oh, yeah. A guy in the network financial department was working late on budgets and when he went downstairs to drive home discovered his car was missing."

"There's no guard in the garage, I'm guessing? Just an electronic gate?"

"Right. Anyway, the dude reported his car stolen but we only found out half an hour ago because we've been working on the murder."

"I'm guessing that speeded up your search. You find his car leaving the garage?"

"We did."

"And?"

"And you were driving. I mean Stana Katic was driving."

"What? That can't be right."

"Not actually her. Someone wearing a Stana Katic mask."

TBC

 **A/N** Both Backstabber and Betrayed are actual typefaces.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

She has barely had time to digest the information that Espo just passed along about the person leaving the scene in a Stana Katic mask when her phone rings again.

"Hey, Castle, I was wondering when you'd check in," she says, smiling at the prospect of catching up with her husband.

"Me?" He sounds decidedly ticked off. "Beckett, I just heard that the head of programming at ABC got murdered after firing two people from our favorite show, and you didn't call me?"

"Whoa, whoa. First of all, I got the call from dispatch at four-forty in the morning. Second, you're in Los Angeles, a three-hour time difference. Third—"

" _You_ caught the case? Now I really can't believe you didn't call."

"Castle!" She knows she's yelling, but she can feel him pouting from 2,400 miles away. "Would you let me finish, please?"

"Sorry," he says, but not sounding it. He's cranky that he's missing this delectable bit of homicidal mania.

"I'm not on the case. Neither is Lanie. They kicked us off the scene as soon as we got there. Wouldn't even let us check the body, so there's not much to tell."

"What? Who kicked you off?"

"Officer Butts."

"Oh, this is getting better by the second. Who's Officer Butts?"

"Cop on the door. He was just doing his job. Orders from the top, as in the Commissioner. Gates is out, too. We've all been told not to go to work today."

"Why?"

"Apparently they think the three of us are quote compromised end quote since the three actresses who play parts based on us have been fired. Written out of the show."

"Hurled into the moat."

"Something like that."

"Do you think Nathan Fillion is safe? I mean, his part?"

"Castle, this isn't about you."

"Just saying."

"Right, funny they didn't hire an actor who looks less like you and a lot more like Brian Griffith. Since, you know, he actually created the show."

"Griffith's homely. And short. And fat. Balding, too. Besides, by the time they were casting _Fortress_ I had started following you at the precinct and was a much better model for the character than that one-hit wonder."

"Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe you should buy a new fedora before you come home. I can feel your head swelling."

"Okay, okay. But you really can't tell me anything, other than that he was stabbed? Because I don't believe for a second that you're not all over this case from the comfort of my office chair."

"Mmhmm."

"That sounds like it's gonna cost me something."

"Yup."

That explosive little yup was very sexy. He can picture her pursed lips when they formed the P. He needs to come home. This conference is boring. He'd want to come home even if it weren't, but that P! It's fizzing around in his blood stream now. He can be on a plane in three hours, home in ten. Less, if he's lucky. Yuppppppp.

"I'm coming home, Beckett. About to leave for the airport. 'Fraid I won't have time to stop for a new hat."

"You're supposed to be there for three more days."

"That might have been the plan, was the plan, but look, you may be off the ABC homicide, but I'm not. And with Ryan out this week, Espo could really use the help, right? Plus, I have to tell you, this conference is a snoozefest. Okay? Oops, car's here, gotta go. I'll call you from the airport. Love you." He hangs up before she can ask for his flight info, since he doesn't have any. Yet. He calls downstairs, says he's checking out now and asks for a car. Seventeen minutes later he's on his way to LAX, a business-class seat booked. $1,500 a bargain in his mind. He calls Beckett when he's having a snack in the airline lounge and gives her his honest-to-God travel details.

"You know, you were going to tell me a juicy detail about the—" he drops his voice to a whisper. "Murder."

"I didn't say it was juicy."

"Oh, come on. Just tell me. I'll pay up any way you choose."

"I get to drive the entire time we're on vacation this summer."

"Done."

Well, that was easy. "The s.o.b. got stabbed with…"

He counts to ten. "Come onnnnnn! With what?"

She lets his whine hang in the air for a while, and when she finally reveals what the murder weapon was he laughs so hard he drops the phone. "People's Choice, huh? How many suspects are there, anyway, six million?"

"Probably, nationwide. Maybe thirty million if you add in other countries. Still, a hell of a lot in and around just the city."

"Got any ideas?"

"Not yet. Hey, Castle? See you tonight. Dream about me on your flight. I'm naked." She ends the call right there and allows herself a laugh. She needs it. She's well and truly pissed off, and her rage is escalating for several reasons. Mainly, though, it's the unfairness of Stana being fired and of her being kept off the case. Both instances are totally uncalled for. What is called for, though, is a cup of coffee, so she makes one and drinks it while she sits at the kitchen counter, mulling things over. When she takes the last satisfying swallow she realizes, with some horror, that she hasn't been in touch with Stana. She must have heard the news from dozens of people, but she deserves to hear something from her. Beckett pulls her laptop over and sends a quick email on her secure server.

"I can't tell you how angry and upset I am about what was done to you. It was unconscionable, uncalled for, and a lot of other un-s which haven't yet come to mind, though Castle would have at least a dozen. As for Cutter? If ever I were to consider a homicide justified, his would be at the top of the list, although a quick death was way too merciful for him. I'd have gone for boiling tar, or the rack, or made him listen to the theme from _Love Story_ for 500 hours. Or maybe subjected him to the Catherine wheel—and I mean the medieval torture device, not the rock band.

"What you probably don't know is that I've been forbidden to work on the case. You can probably guess why. Still, you can probably also guess that that's not stopping me from sniffing around on my own.

"Hope you're okay. Call me any time.

"Love from your NYPD alter ego, Kate"

That done, she starts considering, again, the fact that someone—presumably the killer—had left the network's office building wearing that mask. She grabs her cell and calls Esposito again on his own phone. No answer, but she leaves an urgent request for a call back.

The guy is a gem. It can't have been a minute since her voicemail. "'Sup, Captain?"

"The person driving out of the garage was alone in the car, right?"

"Right."

"Can you see enough, especially the hand on the wheel, to know if it's a man or a woman?"

"Good question. I had the same one. I've been looking at it hard, and I'd say it's almost definitely a woman, but whoever it is has gloves on, so it's hard to be sure. If it's a guy, though, the dude has really small hands."

"Can you see enough of the neck below the mask to tell if there's an Adam's apple?"

"Nope. Driver's wearing a turtleneck. And a peacoat."

"What about race? Can you see any skin?"

"A tiny bit on the neck, looks white. You got some ideas?"

"I do. But I could also be out of my mind, too, so I'm gonna give it some more thought. Oh, and Espo?"

"Yeah?"

"Castle was supposed to be a writers' conference in L.A. this week, but he's flying home now. When I told him I can't work on this he went all—well, you know. Anyway, with Ryan out you could use him, couldn't you?"

"Are you kidding? Mister Outside the Box? Totally."

"Great. Later."

This can't really be, can it? She's not even sure how the idea came to her, but she's learned to trust her gut more than she used to. It's gnawing at her now. Nibbling at her intestines, prickling her skin in a bad, bad way. She chews on the side of her thumbnail and when she can't stand living alone with her suspicions any longer, she picks up her phone again.

"Kate?"

"Lanie. Cutter's killer could have been a woman, right?"

"We're not on this investigation, remember?"

"Yeah, and you remember who you're talking to, right? Your mildly obsessive best friend."

"Delete the 'mildly,' and yeah."

"So could it?"

The medical examiner sighs. "Look, I saw the guy from several feet away, just like you, but I'd have to say yes. He is, was, short."

"Guys like that are always short. Napoleon complex."

"Fine, my unlicensed psychiatrist friend. Anyway, he was short and appeared to be slim, so a reasonably strong woman could have struck with enough force to kill him."

"Especially a reasonably strong woman who was seriously angry."

"Also true."

"Thanks, gotta go."

"No, no, no. No you don't. You spill right now."

"It's only an inkling."

"Oh, please. Some inkling. You've probably built an entire profile on whoever she is since Victoria and I left."

"Maybe. Look, I promise I'll fill you in later, okay?"

"You'd better."

"Bye."

Why the hell is Castle 35,000 feet above wherever? Why isn't he here this instant so she could bounce this off him? He won't be home for another three hours, and if she doesn't burn off some of this energy she'll go insane. She changes into leggings, a T shirt, and running shoes and heads out, but as soon as the elevator door opens in the lobby she sees them: camera crews, network and local; newspaper reporters from metro and culture; the usual paparazzi. Thank God they haven't seen her. She presses the button for the basement. "Not the only woman fleeing through a garage today," she says to herself as she jogs out the back entrance and peels off, unobserved. "Garage glamorous," she thinks, softly humming Lady Gaga's "Paparazzi."

Her run lasts ninety minutes, and she re-enters the building the same way she'd left. While she takes a long, long soak in the tub, she tries to keep her mind off the suspect, her personal suspect, and on the victim. A radio report from yesterday floats into her mind: for a ten-dollar donation, you can name one of the Madagascar hissing cockroaches at the Bronx Zoo after someone you hate. "Les Cutter, you little insect, this one's for you," she thinks, eager to send in her ten bucks to the zoo.

But nothing distracts her sufficiently. There's a loop in her brain saying the woman's name over and over and over and over. She's still in the bathroom, wrapped in an enormous towel, when Castle comes in. Before she can even kiss him hello, her evil thought spills out. She looks directly into his eyes. "I know who the killer is."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

"You weren't kidding, you really are naked," he says, after kissing her far less thoroughly than he'd like. Her greeting had taken him aback. "You know who the killer is? You're not even on the case—okay, obviously you're working on it sub rosa—"

"I know who it is, Castle."

"How? Never mind, later. First tell me who."

"Molly."

"Molly?"

"Yes."

"Molly who?"

"Molly from _Fortress_."

"You mean Molly as in Quinn? Molly as in Alexis?"

"Well, not _your_ Alexis, the show's Alexis. But yes, Molly Quinn."

He's so shocked by this piece of information, or speculation, that he hasn't even realized that she has divested herself of her towel, moved to their bedroom, put on an oversized shirt and a pair of yoga pants and is now on her way to the kitchen while he trails after her. "Molly? What makes you think it's Molly? It has to be some deranged fan, right? Why would it be Molly?"

Beckett begins grating cheese into a small bowl. "Want an omelet, Castle?"

"Yes. But Molly?"

"Cheese?"

"Yes, thanks. Molly?"

She takes two skillets out of the cupboard, and drops a large chunk of butter into each one. As they melt, she cracks four eggs into a larger bowl, whisking seriously and silently.

"Really? Little Molly?"

"Not so little, Castle. She's twenty-two. Hold on." She pours half the beaten eggs into the first skillet, expertly tipping it with one hand and working the spatula with the other, nodding her approval before adding cheese, folding the mixture in three, and sliding it onto the plate. She repeats the process with the rest of the eggs, and points her head towards the table. "Let's eat."

Castle sits down, still wearing the expression of someone who has been hit in the head with a brick. "Molly?"

"I'm not counting," Beckett says, waving her fork, "but you've asked that about ten times."

"Okay, it's just—I'm stunned. And why aren't you freaking out?"

"Already did that, while you were flying over California, Arizona, Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. And I'm stunned, too, but it makes sense."

"It does? I think I need some wine. Something. You?"

"Couldn't hurt." She chews methodically while her husband fills two glasses and carries them to the table. "Thanks, Castle."

"What makes you so sure it's Molly? How did you even think of her?"

"Let me tell you what we know, first."

He smiles for only the second time since he got home. "Ha! I knew you knew something!"

"I've been calling Espo," she says, not bothering to look even faintly guilty. "Calling his burner from my burner. Nobody will find out." She fills Castle in on what she has so far.

"Doesn't it seem like it must be a fan? I mean, I checked Twitter and Facebook and there are millions of people out there screaming foul about Stana and Tamala being fired. Screaming bloody murder, in fact. If someone hadn't killed Cutter I'd be expecting a torchlit mob outside those offices."

"Ordinarily I'd say you're exaggerating, but you're not. There really are millions of them."

"And that note the killer left was obviously from a fan."

"Not so obviously," she says, taking another sip of wine. "For one thing, and it's an important thing, it was written in a very unusual if cleverly pointed typeface, Betrayed. Why would anyone take the trouble to do that? How many fans are even interested in typography?"

"Well, we are."

"That's what I mean. We are. And who knows that we are? People on the show, that's who. It's one of our so-called things that they actually wrote into that wedding-invitation moment in an episode a couple of years ago. But fans don't know that."

"Could've been a coincidence."

"I know you love those, but there are too many other things involved, like the disabled security cameras." She turns around when she hears her phone ring. "It's Esposito. He must have found something."

He had. Castle watches while she speaks with the detective, though he's clearly doing almost all the talking; her end of the conversation is largely "uh huh," "right," or "figures." The call is short and she returns to the table.

"Interesting."

"Yeah?"

"They scrubbed all the footage from the lobby. Sunday's the lightest work day, right? Even in the news and TV business. So there's nothing like as much to go through as there'd have been at other times. Anyway, there's a gap. The guards change at midnight, and they sometimes schmooze a little when they do. Must be bored out of their minds. Anyway, it turns out that that's exactly what they were doing last night, schmoozing. Tech guys found a ninety-second gap in the video almost exactly at midnight, so they interviewed the two guards. Seems someone—a woman, in a coat and hat—did come in around then but she called them by name and held up her ID so they really didn't pay any attention. All they could say was: white female, medium height."

"Could still be a fan," he insists.

"But think about it: what was done with cameras and the feed indicate not just technical savvy—which, granted, plenty of fans could have—but also almost certainly some familiarity with the building. And whoever it was who sailed by so-called guards in the middle of the night knew them by name and either had an ID or had something that could pass for from several feet away."

"So maybe a network employee, then."

"What network staffer would come in at that hour?"

"A newsperson, maybe?"

"So it's another coincidence that the woman who came in—the one you think could work there—is not visible on tape, because her arrival coincided with the gap?"

"All right, I admit it's a stretch." She's giving him the eye. "More than a stretch. But how do you make her as the person whose name I will not utter again? For now. Whom we first met when she was a cute little fourteen-year-old, wouldn't hurt a fly."

"It's not like we know her, Castle. Don't confuse her with your actual kid."

"I'm not." She gives him the eye again. "Maybe a little."

"Mmhmm." She picks up her fork, plate, and glass. "I'm gonna need coffee and a hell of a lot of ice cream for this next part. I think you will, too."

"You make the coffee. You never take out enough kinds of ice cream and especially not enough sides."

"Sides?" she asks, as she puts her things in the sink.

"Additions. Enhancements. Whipped cream. Chocolate sprinkles. Rainbow sprinkles. Red hots. Marshmallow fluff. At least four toppings. Peanuts, almonds, walnuts. Potato chips."

"Enough! Aggh. I'm glad you have such an appetite, Castle."

"Don't you? We haven't seen each other since Thursday."

"Good point. Don't forget my chocolate sauce."

"As if," he says, before adding brightly, "Don't eat it all. I want to use some later. On you."

Two bowls—one relatively demure (scoop of coffee, scoop of vanilla, chocolate sauce) and one borderline revolting (bubblegum, fudge ripple and pistachio ice creams, topped with bits of ribbon candy, butterscotch sauce, strawberry sauce, crumbled pretzels and a hillock of whipped cream)—two spoons, and two mugs of coffee are on a tray that Castle's taking to the bedroom.

"Aren't we eating on the sofa?"

"Not a chance. If what you tell me is so astounding that I keel over, I want to keel over in our bed. Besides, I love having dessert in bed. Two desserts."

"You've got enough dessert that for an army, Rick. Don't need mine."

"I wasn't referring to your paltry ice cream, Kate, I was referring to you. You are the best dessert ever."

"You're pretty tasty yourself," she says, licking her lips. "But we're talking about the case first."

"Right. You know who."

"Molly."

"God, you drive a hard bargain."

"I understand that you're resisting this, but hear me out."

"I am, I am. It's just that it seems crazy that Molly, or anyone in the cast, would kill Cutter. Unless they thought that getting rid of Beckett meant the end of the show? But that doesn't make any sense. They wouldn't have bothered firing Stana and Tamala if they were planning to shut down _Fortress_ now, with this season's finale. They'd just close up shop, say thanks everyone, it was a great run. And they wouldn't have had millions of homicidal fans on their hands, just disappointed ones. Standard reaction for a popular show when it comes to an end."

She leans to her left and swipes her thumb across his chin. "Yum, butterscotch," she says, licking it off. "You know Molly doesn't like Stana, right?"

"What? Why?"

"I think partly it's that she has a crush on Nathan, even though he plays her father. She's not a teenager anymore, remember."

"I do remember. But I also remember this is a TV show, not real life. It's not as if Stana is stealing away her father and has become her evil stepmother. And—" he holds up his spoon to make a point, and a strawberry-syrup-coated potato chip lands on his shirt, "if she doesn't like her, she'd be thrilled that Stana's gone, wouldn't she? She wouldn't stab Cutter, she'd buy him a celebratory drink."

Beckett points to the blob on her husband's shirtfront. "You might want to get that before it leaves a stain. I'm certainly not licking up that combo."

"Oh, okay." He scoops it up with his finger, swallows it, and smacks his lips noisily.

"There are a couple of things you don't know. One, there was talk of a _Fortress_ spinoff."

He lights up. "Really, that would be cool. What is it?"

"Was, Castle, past tense. The network was hoping to get a younger demographic—"

"What's wrong with _my_ demographic? I spend a hell of a lot more money than those twenty-somethings they're always wooing."

"Sorry, gramps. Anyway, they were hoping to get a younger demographic with a spinoff that would star Molly and Toks Olagundoye as BFFs who run a P.I. agency."

"Terrible idea." He shudders. "Can't stand the whole P.I. thing and I really can't stand Hayley. They should have sent her wherever they sent Pi."

"Apparently the focus groups last month agreed, but Molly and Toks are very high on the idea and have been arguing how great it could be. Still think it can fly, I heard."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I have an old school friend who runs those focus group things. So I asked her, on the QT."

"So shouldn't Molly and Toks be delighted that Beckett is being bumped off?"

"No, because Stana staying on the show was what would have made the spinoff possible. I got this from her, by the way. Stana, that is, about the spinoff idea. She told me over Christmas when she was here and we got together. The writers were supposed to introduce Haley this season, set the P.I. thing up, get fans interested in that dynamic duo and boom! But instead, fizzle. And you know what they say about redheads' tempers. Molly must have been enraged at Stana—although it's hardly her fault—and at Cutter, crazy as it sounds. She wants to be a star, not a supporting player. The dweeb daughter, she said at one point."

"Well, wait a minute. Even if this is all true, how could she have pulled off all the tech stuff?"

"You'll love this. It's life imitating art, another favorite of yours."

 **A/N** Thanks for your support for this little revenge story!

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

Castle's surprised. "I—we—may not know Molly beyond a nodding acquaintance, but not in a million years would I think of her as a techie. Are you telling me she is?"

"Sort of. You know how in the stupid P.I. thing on _Fortress_ this season Alexis has suddenly become some tech whiz who can break into any system, aided and abetted by Hayley?"

"Yeah, another instance of the terrible dive the show took lately. Go on."

"Here's the life-imitating-art thing. Not that the show is very arty lately. So, Stana mentioned to me that Molly loves that her character is now a computer whiz blah blah blah, even though it came from nowhere. And she never finished college. Anyway, she—Molly, that is—is so crazy about that development that she hired some real computer whiz to give her lessons. Apparently the guy was on set practically every day this season, and she's been spending virtually all her down time with him." She glances at her husband, who's making a move on her bowl. "You with me so far, Castle?"

He takes a large spoonful of her mocha confection. "Mmmhmm."

"Is that a yes, or is that your reaction to my ice cream?"

"Both."

"Stay out of my dessert and eat your own." She looks to her left. "Oh, my God, you already finished yours?"

"Can't help it if you're a slow eater, Beckett. Although that's something I really love about you in other situations."

"I'm not giving you the satisfaction of commenting on that." She moves her bowl out of his reach. "To continue."

"Please do." He kisses her knee.

"I did a little digging on Toks this afternoon. She's very smart. Went to a terrific college. And get this: earlier in her career she supported herself working part-time for the Geek Squad."

"Really? How'd you find that out?"

"I occasionally read trashy magazines. Like when I'm getting a mani-pedi. And I know my way around their websites. Tell anyone and you're a dead man."

"What's my silence worth to you?" he whispers.

"Forget it. And stop trying to distract me. As I was about to say, on the show Hayley and Alexis are BFFs, right? Well, off-screen Molly and Toks have become very good friends, too. I think Molly looks up to her, the way she doesn't Stana. Doesn't consider her a threat or whatever. Hey! Stop it!" She smacks Castle's hand with her spoon. "What did I say about my ice cream?"

"Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"True. I admit it. Go ahead, I'm all ears."

"And mouth. My point is that Toks and Molly, with help from Dwayne—that's Molly's computer tutor—have a hell of a lot of high-tech savvy between them. And one more thing? I bet you he has a thing for Molly and would do anything she asked."

"Okay, so the building." Castle, clearly intrigued now, rolls onto his side and props himself up on his right arm. "Toks and Molly must have been there for various network things, so they'd know it, at least generally. Especially Molly. But wait. What makes you think the Dwayne kid has a thing for her?"

That's worth a withering look. "She's on a hit TV show, Castle. She's cute. And he's a nerd. Isn't that enough?"

"Got it. But are you implying that he was in on this? Didn't you say there was only one person in the car that came out of the network garage? The driver in the Stana mask?"

"I did. But that car isn't a car, it's an SUV with an enormous storage space in the back that's covered by one of those pull-out tops. There could be four people hiding under there. Though I think it was probably two."

"Or one."

"How do you figure one?"

"Because it would be safer to have Toks enter the building on foot via the garage. They wouldn't want to risk both her and Alexis coming through the lobby. And Dwayne wasn't with them. He'd be waiting somewhere else, monitoring cameras, things like that. They'd have to have someone offsite taking care of that, blocking the feed, and you'd go with the one who's the best tech. Him. In a hotel room, maybe? The Hilton's only a block away from there."

Beckett jumps out of bed, grabs Castle's bowl from his nightstand and runs out of the room.

"Kate?"

"Hang on!" she yells from the kitchen.

He hears her racing back, her bare feet slapping on the floor, and when she comes through the door she's waving a phone.

"Had to get this. Gotta call Espo and tell him what we've come up with. And see if he has anything new." A few seconds later she reaches him.

"I'm gonna put you on speaker, Javi, okay? Castle's home now, with me." Together they fill him in. "Can you get someone over to the Hilton? The kid's name is Mitchell, Dwayne Mitchell. I don't think they'd have bothered using a fake I.D. for him. If he's not there, or wasn't there, they might have gone for someplace cheaper nearby. Try the Wellington on Fifty-Fifth and Seventh."

"Espo? Molly would never stay in the Wellington. Too down market."

"Might be exactly why she'd want Dwayne there, though, Castle"

"We'll get right on it, Captain. And I have something for you."

"What?"

"The car. Parked on the street at a hundred and eighty-third and Fort Washington."

"Washington Heights, then. By the bridge."

"Yup."

"Prints?"

"Wiped clean. Correction, it had been wiped clean, but a beat cop found a kid right after he broke the window. So his prints were on it, but no one else's."

"This kid see anything?"

"Nope, but the hood was still a little warm, so it couldn't have been there long."

"Was the mask there?"

"Nope."

"There's a subway entrance a block away."

"I know. The A train. We're checking surveillance video from the MTA now."

"Listen, I'm gonna take a quick nap because I went in so early. Seems like a million years ago. Didn't get much sleep and Castle's just had a long flight. You'll call if you get anything, right?"

"Right."

"Thanks, Espo."

"Thanks, Beckett. Cap. You, too, Castle."

She ends the call and puts the phone next to the bed.

Castle slides halfway down the headboard. "You look remarkably well-rested for someone who's been up for almost twenty-four hours, Kate."

"And you look remarkably well-rested for someone who's been on a transcontinental flight, Rick."

"You gonna take a nap?"

She crawls over to his side of the bed, and throws her right leg over his left. "That's what I've been thinking of doing."

"You napping on my thighs?" he asks, his fingers creeping up hers. "Doesn't seem very restful."

"I certainly hope not." She leans forward until they're almost chest to chest. "That's the one thing I like about that ridiculous P.I. subplot in _Fortress_. The revised definition of 'nap'."

"I'm with you there. It's given us all kinds of ideas, hasn't it?"

"Might have one right now, in fact." Beckett straightens up just long enough to peel her off her shirt and take the band out of her pony tail so that her hair is loose around her face.

Castle looks up approvingly, puts his arm around her waist and pulls her down against him. "Topless napping. I like it."

"You gotta be topless, too," she says, and starts unbuttoning his shirt and nibbling on his ear. "Takes two to tango, you know."

"Takes two to nap."

Napping is just wrapping up phase one, which focussed on above-the-waist, or at least above the hips, activity, and is about to progress to the already eagerly awaited phase two when the familiar opening notes of "Oye Como Va" signal an incoming call form Esposito. Beckett groans, and not in ecstasy.

"Goddammit," Castle says. "I swear he's as bad a cockblocker as Ryan is on the show."

"Whatcha got, Detective?" Beckett asks, giving her husband's right nipple a little tweak.

"Ouch!"

She puts two fingers of her free hand on his lips. "No, you're not bothering us. Castle just stubbed his toe."

"Not my toe," he mouths to her.

"Really? Both of them?" She pauses. "You're sure?" Another pause, this one very short. "Have you found where they got off?" She's nodding her head. "Right. Right." She's silent while Esposito continues. "Okay. Call if you get them. Or if you get anything else. Otherwise I'll talk to you in the morning. Great work. Right. Night."

"What happened?"

"They've got Molly and Toks on the A train platform at a hundred and eighty-first. Both somewhat disguised. Enough that the average bear wouldn't realize who they were. They've got Molly getting off the train at Columbus Circle and Toks two stops later. It was hours and hours ago, but it's a huge lead, Castle." She snuggles up to him again. "I can really feel the noose tightening."

"Not the only thing that's tightening, Kate."

TBC

 **A/N** One chapter to go. Thanks to everyone who's here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

She wakes up at 5:45, not because her alarm has gone off or because the sun is coming in the window, but because she's hungry. So hungry she wonders if her grumbling stomach is what roused her. And speaking of rouse, that was some night she and Castle had. She turns onto her left side and looks at him. He's on his back, one arm over his head, the other on her pillow, and the sheet is pulled only as high as his hips. They're both naked. It amazes her sometimes how passionate—and fun, loving, adventurous, imaginative, rough, tender, eager, giving—their sex life still is, four years after she turned up at his door that rainy night.

Castle startles her when he asks, without opening his eyes, "Should we send a present to Esposito?"

"I thought you were asleep," she says, and kisses him on the jaw. "Why are we sending him a present?"

"To say thanks for not calling us again last night. You told him he could." He lifts his arm from her pillow and draws her halfway onto his chest. "My God, Kate, that was—. I can't even think of an adequate word for what you, we, did. Maybe if we do it again I'll be able to. A challenge for my writerly skills."

She chuckles. "Not right now, maestro. I need coffee and something to eat." She rolls out of bed and stands up.

"I'm surprised you can walk."

"Don't know if I can. I haven't tested anything yet."

"That's why I'm staying right here. Not risking it."

Two cups of premium caffeine and half a breakfast later, "Oye Como Va" fills the room and Beckett grabs the phone.

"Espo? You got something?" Castle can't hear the other half of the conversation, but periodically she interjects with "uh huh," "really," "mmhmm," or "okay." Finally she says, "I'm calling Gates. See if I can at least watch the interrogation through the two-way. " She nods her head. "Thanks. I'll get right back to you. Soon as I talk to the deputy chief."

"That what I think that was?"

"If you think that they've arrested Molly, Toks, and the computer patsy, yes."

"Were they together?"

"No, he was at the Wellington, enjoying room service and pay-per-view porn, thanks to his thespian benefactors."

"Huh, you were right," Castle says, helping himself to the last strawberry in the fruit bowl. "Not the Hilton. But they got the other two? Where were they?"

"This is the best part. Coming out of _Hamilton_ last night."

" _Hamilton_? Hip-hop _Hamilton_ , the musical for which I had to pay a grand a ticket?"

"Yup. Obviously Molly and Toks could afford a ticket broker, too. And luckily for us if not for them, it turns out that a _Fortress_ fan was sitting in the row behind them and recognized them even in their disguises. Took their photo when they were chatting, and at intermission she tweeted it. Bingo! It was retweeted about a zillion times. Apparently there was a certain amount of speculation about whether Molly and Toks were a couple. Anyway, by the time the curtain came down at the end of the show there were at least two dozen undercover guys stationed outside. God, sometimes I really love social media."

"So are they at the Twelfth?"

"Yup, all three of them, but in separate rooms. Gonna call Gates right now. No way am I missing this."

Castle gets out of bed cautiously. "While you do that I'm going to take a shower, much as I'd rather wait for you."

"Not getting in the shower with you, bud. You'd make us late."

"Excuse me, _you'd_ make us late."

She kisses him on the shoulder and is about to call Gates when he puts his hand over the phone. "Dwayne? The computer guy?"

"Yeah? What about him?"

"I guarantee the porn he was watching wasn't half as good as what we got up to. Just saying."

She giggles, swats him on the butt, shakes his hand off her phone, and points to the bathroom. "Get going, Romeo."

He has finished showering and is just beginning to shave when she walks into the bathroom. "It's all good. Gates cleared it with the Commissioner and says we can go, but we have to keep our mouths shut. Gotta hurry, though."

"Skip your shower, then."

"Not a chance. I'm pretty much radiating sex."

A quarter of an hour later, freshly scrubbed and dressed, they're in her car and on the way to the station. "You know what I don't get?" he asks while she drives. "Why didn't Molly and Toks split up? Why'd they chance being seen together?"

"Hubris, Castle. First, they're actors. On the one hand they like to be seen, on the other they think they're geniuses at disguise. Second, I'm sure it never occurred to them that they were suspects. Even if it did, they didn't cover their tracks very well. Working on a cop show doesn't turn you into a criminal mastermind."

"I dunno, Beckett, I think after eight years of working with you I'm something of a criminal mastermind."

"You're at an actual police station, Castle," she says, pulling into her spot—a perk of her Captaincy—on West 24th Street. "With real-life cops and real-life crime. Unlike your Hollywood alter ego, Nathan Fillion, or anyone else in the _Fortress_ cast."

As they walk into the building he says, "So, you don't think Stana is a criminal mastermind?"

She glares at him as the elevator doors close. "I think she's many, many things, but not a criminal mastermind. Don't think she's interested in being that."

"It would be so hot if she were, though."

"Oh God, Castle, you're such a fanboy."

He has no chance to reply, as the elevator shudders to a stop right then and disgorges them on their floor. Beckett spies LT and beckons him over. "Could you tell Esposito that I'd like to speak with him, please? I'm not going into my office. We'll wait right here."

"Yes, ma'am. Good to see you, Cap'n. You too, Castle."

"Thanks, LT. Big day, huh?" Castle is as excited as a 6-year-old on a school trip to the zoo. "Don't get a lot of stars in here."

"Not since that week when Laura Prepon was being Natalie Rhodes. I'll go tell the Detective."

They don't have to wait long for Esposito, who runs to meet them and hustles them into the break room, where he shuts the door and draws the blinds. "Big break. We got a huge break."

Beckett and Castle look at him and simultaneously chime, "Dwayne Mitchell?"

"Always nice to see you two still got the touch. Yeah, the little computer asshat. You could tell the minute we got him in the box that he has a thing for Molly. Reminds me of you, Castle, the way you used to be all gooey eyed around Beckett before you got together."

"I was not goo—"

"Go on, Espo," Beckett says, while she tugs gently on Castle's ear.

"Yeah, well. We were putting the fear of God in the no neck, no question, but he was digging in, going all macho defense. And then I told him he might want to think about saving his skin, since he'd be facing the same charge as the person who actually murdered Cutter. You could see that shook him a little, but not enough. So I asked him why he was protecting Molly. ' 'Cause the little bitch was always making fun of you to Toks'."

"She was?" Castle sounds a little surprised.

"Got no idea, but that's what I told him. Quoted chapter and verse to him."

"Chapter and verse from your imaginary Bible, I assume?" Beckett says.

"It's called the Apocrypha, Beckett," Castle says, hoping that she'll reward him with a smile. She does.

"You got it. I gave him a few choice remarks from her, and he folded like a pup tent in the rain. Gave her and Toks up on the spot."

"Where'd you get the choice remarks?" Castle asks cheerfully.

"Some crap chick-flick Lanie forced me to watch. I write down stuff from things like that. Have a whole file of them. Come in very handy."

"Make a writer out of you yet, Javier."

"Yeah, well, that file might have a couple of examples from your books, too, Castle."

"Enough!" Beckett says sharply. "He made a deal, I assume?"

"Yeah. He's about to sign on the dotted line. Gave us everything."

"Not just his word against theirs, then?" Castle says.

"Nah. The guy may be stupid about women, but not about other things. Little weasel knows how to protect himself, for sure. He's got voicemails, hidden cam recordings, texts, you name it."

"Great work," Beckett says warmly. "Where's Molly now?"

"Interrogation one. With her million-dollar-an-hour lawyer."

"What about Toks?"

"She's in two, also with some moneybags attorney."

"Yeah, and speaking of money," Beckett adds, "mine's definitely on Molly as the perp, as we've discussed. She had years of pent-up anger and resentment, but Toks has been around for only eight, nine months. She's the back-up."

"Goin' in there now. You'll be in Observation, right?"

"Right. Castle and I will follow you in about thirty seconds." As soon as he enters the interrogation room, they settle in to watch their friend and colleague go to work. "She's gonna crack right away, Castle," Beckett says quietly.

"You think?"

"Yup."

"So do I."

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Quinn, counselor," Esposito says, neither looking nor sounding even nominally sorry as he takes a seat on the opposite side of the table and deposits an armload of files and a laptop to his right.

Castle slips his phone out of his pocket, clicks on the stopwatch and holds it up to Beckett, his raised eyebrows asking the question. She responds by holding up four fingers.

Four minutes and seven seconds later, Molly Quinn, faced with a mountain of evidence, confesses to the murder of Les Cutter, and Castle gives his wife a thumbs up. Despite the lawyer's attempt to silence his client, she unleashes a river of invective.

"Wow," Castle says. "That's some language. Didn't know she had it in her."

"Nothing impressive there. She's a murderer."

"I know. It's just interesting to hear. And see. You know, LT mentioned Laura Prepon a few minutes ago?"

"Yeah? So?"

"Well, she's one of the stars of _Orange Is the New Black_ now."

"You're the one who watches that, Castle."

"Don't know what you're missing. Women in prison. There was that great line from the first season, 'It's just like the Hamptons, only fucking horrible.' Still cracks me up. Be funny if Molly ended up a consultant for them from behind bars."

"Not funny. Just sad. Let's go home. I don't need to see Toks's one-woman show, do you?"

"Nope. Let's go home."

"Deal."

Beckett takes the rest of the day off, lets Espo wrap everything up since she's not officially on the case. She and Castle go for a long walk, and get a lunch-cart sandwich by the Hudson. She calls Espo while they're eating to find out when the news is going to be released, and he tells her that a press conference is scheduled at four o'clock.

"I don't want Stana to be blindsided, Rick. I'm gonna call and tell her."

"Good idea."

When she gets no answer, she leaves a brief voicemail.

"I think we should go home, before all the camera crews set up in front of our building, okay? You know they're gonna be there."

"We'll stay in tonight. I can make dinner."

They're torn about watching the evening news, but they do, and then turn off the TV. They cook together and don't answer the phone except once. "It's Lanie, Rick. I'm gonna talk to her."

He's looking through some DVDs when he hears Kate say, "Are you fucking kidding me?" She's quiet now, must be listening to Lanie. "Yup. Us, too. Thanks, Lanie. Night."

"What was that about?"

"You won't believe it. The network just announced they're canceling _Fortress_."

"Whoa, that was fast. Soon as they heard about the arrests, I guess."

"Nope. Before. There were more than twelve million tweets. NoStanaNoCastle and NoSeasonNine."

"Wow. So there's another bit of social media for which we can be grateful."

Her head is bent and she's obviously thinking about something. After a bit she looks right into his eyes. "You know what I want to do, Rick? Hold on, I'm getting us some wine. The really, really good stuff."

He has no idea what she wants to do, but if it involves really, really good wine, he's all for it. A few minutes later she joins him on the sofa with two glasses and the bottle, which she has already opened. "Now we're gonna get a little drunk."

"Really? You want to get a little drunk?"

"Yeah, enough for a good buzz but not enough that it prevents us from doing what I want to do."

"And what's that, Kate?" He leans over and gives her a kiss with considerable promise.

"Remember the end of season four of _Fortress_?"

His eyes widen. "Remember it? Of course I remember it. It's burned on my retina."

"Well, we're gonna re-enact it, beginning with me against the door."

He grins the grin of a very happy man. "And the off-camera stuff? We get to do all that?"

"Oh, yeah, all that. Including that part, you know? Right?"

"Especially that part. I loved that."

"Good. Me, too."

 **A/N** Thanks very much to everyone who came along on this nutty ride, including all the anonymous reviewers to whom I couldn't respond. I feel so much better now that I've gotten my revenge on ABC, even though it's just on paper!


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